Darcy halted and looked down, every feeling of justice conflicting in his being. The cretin deserved his punishment, but that hollow expression in his eyes—no, he knew that look, and it was not to be borne. “You need not fear mistreatment in my home,” he stiffly assured the fellow. “You will be under the guardianship of my footmen until transferred to the authority of the nearest magistrate on the morrow. I cannot speak for his judgment, but you will be made comfortable enough for the night.”
Woods nodded mutely and began shuffling his feet along once more. It was true they had traveled far today, but not all of it had been thus. Darcy had allowed his tired mount to recover, leading him like a groom for a humiliating half morning and taking upon himself the same exertions as his captive bore. At a coaching station, twenty miles south, they had encountered a carter with his wares bound for Lambton. Darcy, wishing to hasten their travels, had paid for Woods to ride on the box, while he remained close to prevent an escape. All afternoon they had gone so, Darcy mounted and Woods reclining easily, until the carter had stopped for the night. And so, he reasoned, his unwilling companion had just cause for fatigue, but could not truly complain of harsh treatment.
Darcy ground his teeth, relieved that soon he might relinquish his charge and rest himself. He swept his eyes over what remained of the horizon. He was on his own lands now, the trees and meadows of his youth shadowed comfortingly round him, and his own door now in plain view. He had thought at first of skirting the main drive to the house, thinking to elude any eyes that might be about, but pride had brought him up. Was this not his own property, and had he not every right to arrive as the master of the house ought? This was also the smoothest approach for the worn travelers, and so the main drive it was.
Everything was growing brighter now, as the house advanced upon his path and dominated his view. Home, the only place he had ever known as such, but a place demanding more of its master than he might ever again be able to give. Even setting foot inside would draw the walls down around him as the prison he had escaped, pressing and suffocating. Within awaited his innocent Georgiana and his adored Elizabeth, but the flock were guarded by the wolf, and he must carry the battle the moment he crossed the threshold. He felt his stomach flip, and he closed his eyes to draw a shaking breath.
All his discomfort and misgivings were forgotten in the next moment, for he thought—no, he was certain! Most of the windows were decorously shrouded, but from several transgressors there shone golden glow, and within one of them a slender shadow moved. It was on one of the upper floors—the guest quarters, naturally. His pulse quickened. Could it be she? It might just as well be one of the maids, but the knowledge that she was there, somewhere, lent him courage. Might she come below to greet him within a span of minutes, and might she even comfort and welcome him as… a friend? A desired lover? A disinterested acquaintance? What were they to one another?
The horse’s feet crunched the gravel loudly in the still evening. Darcy halted once more, as the first raindrops pattered upon his shoulders. Another moment and his life would be his own again, his name once more spoken aloud, and authority returned to his hand. He flexed his stiff fingers, wondering if he were equal to the task, or if he ought to turn back to Lambton. One more night to think and plan, perhaps that was wise….
A tall footman was now opening the door, a lantern in his hand and a suspicious expression upon his face. “Good evening, sirs. The house is in mourning, and my mistress is not accepting guests at present. May I ask your business?”
Darcy’s mouth felt dry. He sensed Woods glancing up to him, but kept his eyes on the door. His mouth opened, but his voice faltered. “I…” he wheezed, then inhaled a great gulp of air. He wetted his lips. Words formed on them, but his chest tightened until he had not the breath to give voice.
“Sir, we would not require an honest traveler to depart at this hour, but I must ask your business. I have my orders not to permit strangers to linger about the house at present, but I can see that you are in need of shelter for the night. If I may have the honour of your name, I shall call for the butler and the housekeeper to secure appropriate accommodations.”
Darcy swallowed, his jaw working. With a rough sort of decisiveness, he nudged his horse forward, more into the light from the house. In those few steps, he cast his eyes up once more to the window above, then back to the footman. He examined the man closely, searching for a name.
“O’Donnell, is it not? Do you not recognise your employer?” he queried, with a sharpness born of his own frustration.
The footman seemed to flinch, and he hastened down three or four of the steps, his head tilted. He paused, lifted his lantern, and Darcy saw him gape in astonishment. “Sir…” the lantern trembled, the voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Mr… Mr Darcy, sir?” He shook his head and spoke aloud once more. “No, forgive me, my good sir, it is only that your voice seemed familiar.”
“It is I!” Darcy snapped. “And I am quite ready to settle once more into my own house. Is there not someone from the stables to attend my horse?”
O’Donnell nearly dropped the lantern, but a deft hand righted it at the last second. He held it aloft once more, revealing frightened eyes that seemed to look for a ghost rather than his master. He scrambled to collect himself, however, rather admirably. “Y-yes, sir, Mr Darcy! Only one moment, sir, and I shall have Mrs Reynolds called, and Mr Hodges!”
“And Mr Jefferson, if you please. I have with me an individual to consign into his care. Send for two or three others, you must keep close watch that he attempts no escape until the magistrate can be summoned.”
O’Donnell seemed at a loss for which way to turn. He looked to the house, as if to cry out for aid, then back to his master. A second footman appeared behind him, sparing O’Donnell the indignity of shouting. He expressed Darcy’s wishes in a rush of words to his counterpart, then fairly ran down the steps to take the horse. He trembled as his hand reached for the reins, perhaps recalling those old Irish superstitions and ghost stories from his forefathers. Peering anxiously in the light of his lantern, his cheeks seemed bloodless.
“Sir—why, sir, it truly is yourself!” he cried after several seconds. He glanced to Woods and his face seemed to start once more in at least partial recognition. “Sir,” he breathed, turning back to Darcy, “how might I assist you, sir?”
Darcy grunted as he stretched his protesting muscles and wearily mounted the steps. By this time, two more footmen were rushing down to attend him and to take Woods into their custody. Someone else stepped forward to take the horse, freeing O’Donnell to perform his office. He darted up the steps behind his haggard master.
Darcy was standing in the entry by now, gazing quietly at the familiar sights. The scents, the lighting, everything was the same, and yet it seemed foreign to him. “Sir,” O’Donnell’s voice spoke at his elbow, “may I help you out of your wet coat?”
Darcy made no answer, instead sweeping his eyes over the balustrade leading to the upper floors. No young lady had yet appeared to rush down to him and weep for joy in his arms. To whom ought he to go first—the one who needed him, or the one he himself needed?
“Tell me,” he murmured to O’Donnell, “how fares my sister? Do you know where I might find her?”
“I believe she is well, sir. She retired early, I understand she and Mrs Wickham took the evening meal in their rooms.”
“And… the other lady? Is she—is Miss Bennet well?” He held his breath, still disbelieving that she was truly there.
“Sir, Miss Bennet has gone out. I was watching for her, but she has not yet returned.”
Darcy turned sharply. “Gone out? When? How? At this hour?”
“Yes, sir, only a few moments before you arrived. She said she desired a walk about the gardens, insisting she would do well on her own, but sir, it is growing rather dark, and it is raining now. I was thinking someone ought to watch out for her, but she desired privacy. May I go search for her, sir?”
Darcy stared blankly for just a moment. Yes, that would be something his Elizabeth would do. The notion seemed a capital one to him. What better place for a reunion than the cool open sky, far away from prying eyes and stifling propriety? A few drops of rain could not hamper such freedom!
“Sir? Shall I go, then?”
Darcy’s mind was already halfway around the lake, calling her name and gathering her into his arms. He blinked and shook the vague warmth from his voice. “Go? No, that shall not be necessary. I will search for Miss Bennet myself.”
“But sir!” protested O’Donnell.
